


A Place to Park Your Broom

by Kacka



Series: Home Is... [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Halloween, Kid Fic, honestly just so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke's daughter really wants to be a witch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: when i was a kid, i tricked my brother into believing i was an actual witch and that i had cursed him. in other news, this is fluffy, pointless fluff and kids are weird. consider yourself warned.

“Hey babe,” Clarke calls when he walks in the door. “Did you get my text?”

“Yep.” Bellamy sets the grocery bag down on the counter next to the stove where she’s prodding some peppers in a pan distrustfully and wraps his arms around her waist. “Cumin and cilantro, as requested,” he says into her neck.

She leans back into him.

“My hero. I swear, I’m losing my mind. I could have sworn I bought cilantro last week.”

He picks his head up.

“The same thing happened to me with the rosemary the other day.”

“Spooky.” Clarke grins. “Maybe we’ve got ourselves a poltergeist.”

“Or maybe we have another little ghoul to blame,” he mutters, pecking her on the cheek before pulling away. “I’m gonna go investigate. Don’t burn anything while I’m gone.”

“How dare you. I’m a solidly mediocre cook!”

“Sure,” he teases, starting up the stairs, “if you like your food blackened.”

He sticks his head in Jason’s room as he passes, finding his son ankle-deep in legos as a plastic dinosaur demolishes the city he’s spent the last few days building. 

Bellamy could ask him about the missing spices, but he’s been pretty focused on this game recently. He has an inkling this isn’t the culprit they’re looking for.

“Hey, bud. Dinner’s almost ready. Can you wash your hands and help Mom set the table?”

Jason pauses mid-explosion-noise and cocks his head.

“What are we having?” 

Bellamy crosses his arms. At eight years old, his son acts like everything is a negotiation. He and Clarke go back and forth about which one of them passed down the stubborn, argumentative gene. As if their kids could end up any other way.

“Tacos, I think.”

Jason thinks this over, his Serious Consideration face so reminiscent of his mother’s that Bellamy wants to laugh.

“Okay,” he decides. “Can I bring Rexy?”

“Isn’t he pretty full from eating the Lego townspeople? Maybe he can stay here and take a nap so he’ll be well-rested for more destruction later. Lull the survivors into a false sense of security.”

“And when they think they’re safe and start to come out, that’s when he’ll  _ attack, _ ” Jason narrates, slamming Rexy down on a lego wall as he alternates between demolition sound effects and screams of terror as a barn of My Little Ponies flees. 

Bellamy shakes his head and bites back a smile. Jason also got his parents’ flair for the overdramatic.

“After dinner,” he reminds his son, turning him by the shoulders so that he’s facing the bathroom and not his toys. “Use soap this time.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Jason whines, but sets Rexy tenderly in a doll bed and runs off to do as asked.

Bellamy continues down the hall and knocks on Cassie’s closed door. She was doing a voice, talking to herself, but she pauses and drops back into her normal register to ask, “Who is it?”

“It’s Dad. Can I come in?”

“Just a second!” There’s some muffled sounds and then the door opens a crack and his oldest peeks out at him. She reminds him so much of Octavia sometimes, with her big blue eyes (Clarke’s eyes) and her Blake hair, but the freckles that sweep across her nose and cheeks are all his. “Can I help you?”

“I think you can. Mom reported a crime and I’m on the case.”

She frowns. “Mom is better at figuring stuff out than you.”

“Well, I’ll never get better if I don’t practice. Do you know anything about some cilantro and rosemary that went missing from the cabinet downstairs?”

A guilty look flashes on her face before she can stop it, but she quickly schools her expression into one of practiced innocence. 

“Sounds like Lionel to me." 

Bellamy feels his eyes narrow. He’s not mad about spices going missing, but he’s a little upset that his daughter’s first instinct is to lie to him.

“You think?” He asks evenly. Giving her another chance. “It’s a pretty high shelf. And he’s a pretty old cat. He must be more talented than I give him credit for. Maybe we could take that show on the road.”

“He wouldn’t be in trouble?” Cassie asks, her voice small, her eyes wide. 

She’s not so little anymore. She’ll be in middle school next year. Most of the time, he’s struck by how old she’s getting, how fast she’s growing, but at times like this he wants to soften with the realization that she’s still his baby. Clarke would scoff and tell him she’s got him wrapped around her finger, and she’s one thousand percent correct.

“Not if he came clean and gave it back.” 

Cassie sighs and opens her door further, a clear invitation to come inside.

She drops to her hands and knees, rooting around under her bed until she emerges with a plastic bowl and the spices in question, as well as some less commonly used ones he hadn’t noticed were missing. Her whole room stinks with it.

“Ahh, so Lionel had an accomplice.”

“It wasn’t Lionel,” she admits, scowling at the carpet. “It was me.”

“What did you need this stuff for?”

“Yasamin and I were pretending to be witches and we needed ingredients for our potions,” she explains, naming a friend from down the street.

It’s not what Bellamy expected, though he had no idea  _ what _ to expect, and he fumbles with his question as he tries not to laugh.

“What kind of potion?”

“One to keep boys out of our rooms.” She makes a face. “Dads can come in though.”

Bellamy can’t restrain his laugh this time.

“That sounds pretty reasonable. But next time you need to ask before you take this stuff, okay? Or you can buy some ingredients with your own allowance, if you want.”

“Okay.” 

“And don’t blame Lionel,” he says, as stern as he can manage. “This wasn’t that big a deal, but lying  _ is _ a big deal. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now let’s get downstairs. I left Mom cooking unsupervised.”

Clarke catches Bellamy smiling to himself as he returns the spices, but Jason is busy telling her about the earthworms they’re tending to in science so he doesn’t get much of a chance to fill her in until after the kids are asleep. She’s already in bed, laptop out, glasses on, when he emerges from the shower and flops down next to her.

“What was that about, earlier? Cassie is stealing spices now?”

“She was playing witches with Yasamin,” he says, reaching out to push her glasses up where they’re slipping down her nose. “I guess they couldn’t find any eye of toad, so they were making do with what they could get their hands on.”

Clarke snorts.

“Of course they were. And is she facing any consequences for stealing?”

“We agreed that she wouldn’t do it again.”

“Of course you did.” Clarke rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “At some point you’re going to have to be the bad cop, you know.”

“I can be the bad cop,” he insists. She shakes her head and pats his hand patronizingly.

“I’m just biding my time until she starts dating. That’s when I get to be good cop.”

“Don’t even joke,” he groans. “We’ve still got a few years, right?”

Clarke shrugs. “I got my first kiss in middle school.” 

Bellamy heaves a melodramatic sigh and turns, burying his face in her side. Her fingers drift to pet him like a reflex. She loves running her fingers through his hair, which is nice because he loves having it played with. Everybody wins.

“You know, the potion they made was to keep boys out of her room. Any chance it worked?”

“Mmm, probably not. Sadly, I think our daughter is a muggle. But I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.” She nudges him until he looks up, then turns her laptop so he can see what she’s been working on.

“You’re making her a Hogwarts letter?” He asks, sitting up and scooting closer so he can read it properly. The letter is nothing more than simple photoshopping, but it’s his perfectionist wife behind the wheel so of course it looks convincing.

“More like a Hogwarts rejection letter. It’s been this whole thing recently, the witch game. She keeps mentioning how she’s practicing spells and now potions… I think she’ll get a kick out of it.”

Bellamy nods absently, reading over what she’s written. It’s actually pretty sweet, the letter telling Cassie that they’re very sorry but Hogwarts isn’t accepting American pupils at this time, that there are other kinds of magic-- like love, and friendship-- that are just as important to learn, that many untrained wizards and witches go on to thrive in the muggle world.

“It’s good,” he says when he’s finished reading. Clarke tucks herself under his arm, reaching across him to change something miniscule. “But I did tell her not three hours ago that lying is bad.”

“This is like a Santa-level lie, though,” Clarke insists. “And I don’t even know if she really believes in this stuff, but… isn’t it kind of our job to keep the magic alive for her or whatever?”

“The dubious moralities of parenthood,” he jokes, scrolling up and back down again. It really is very good. “I’m fine with it. Just thought that was worth pointing out.”

She presses a kiss to his chest and rolls away, placing the laptop in its drawer and removing her glasses before settling back into his side.

“We should also make sure she knows technology doesn’t work at Hogwarts,” he says thoughtfully. “No iPods, no TV, no-- whatever it is Raven has been teaching her when they hang out. If that doesn't dissuade her, nothing will.”

“I suppose we should have seen this coming,” Clarke sighs, slipping her hand to rest just under the hem of his t-shirt, skin to skin. 

“What, the witch thing?”

“We had a kid on October 31st,” she reminds him sleepily. “What else was she going to want to be?”

 

* * *

 

“Trick or treat!”

“You can’t say that unless you’re wearing a costume. It’s the  _ rules, _ Grandma,” Jason tells Abby, who musters up a serious nod and lets him drag her inside.

“I’m very sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, magnanimous. “You can still have candy if you want.” 

He reaches for the full bowl by the front door, ever-so-slightly out of his reach, and Bellamy swoops in to catch it before it all spills on the floor.

“Watch it, bud.”

“You know what? I’m good on candy for now,” Abby assures her grandson. “Maybe I’ll have some later. But I brought treats of my own for the birthday girl. Do you know where she is?”

Jason shrugs, not caring.

“Dad, can I have a piece of candy?”

“This candy isn’t for you,” Bellamy reminds him. “It’s for the other kids. Why don’t you show Grandma the rest of your costume while we wait for Cassie to finish getting ready?”

Abby makes the appropriate ooh-ing and ahh-ing noises over his lightsaber as Jason gives her a play-by-play of Luke’s battles with Darth Vader. Pretty soon Cassie is thundering down the stairs in her Hogwarts robes, her hair teased as big and bushy as Clarke could manage, Lionel squirming in her arms.

“Wow,” Abby gasps. “Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe! I’m waiting for my granddaughter. You haven’t happened to see her anywhere, have you?”

Cassie rolls her eyes.

“You make that joke every year,” Jason points out. Clarke smothers a laugh behind her hand.

“They’ve got you there, Mom. You’ve been telling that one since I was a kid. It might be time for some new material.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” 

They snap a few pictures before Lionel gets  _ really _ unhappy, and when that’s done Abby produces a wrapped box from her purse. 

“Happy birthday, sweetie. I know we usually wait for your party to do presents, but your mom thought you might want this one a little sooner.”

Cassie tears the paper off, squealing in delight when she sees an official Harry Potter wand inside. She launches herself at Abby and hugs her tightly before thrusting the box at Bellamy to open.

“Hey,” Clarke prods her daughter. “While Dad is wrestling with that, why don’t you show Grandma what else you got for your birthday?”

Cassie reaches into her robes-- into a pocket Bellamy didn’t know was there, and he makes a mental note to check it for hidden candy at the end of the night-- to pull out the Hogwarts letter she’d received that morning.

"They even knew which window was mine," Cassie tells her, brushing a frizzy curl out of her face. "Just like in the books. And mom _says_ a real owl delivered it but I'm not so sure. It came before I woke up."

“We think the owl probably didn’t know about time zones,” Clarke puts in, and both Abby and Bellamy have to work to hide their amused expressions.

By the time they shuffle out the door, Abby having offered to take the kids trick-or-treating so Clarke and Bellamy can have a night alone, Cassie has exhausted them all with her relentless enthusiasm. 

Clarke sighs. “You know, I consider myself a pretty big Harry Potter fan, but she knows more spells than I knew existed. She had to have been making some of those up, right?”

“Face it. Our daughter is a bigger nerd than you,” Bellamy teases, picking through the candy bowl for a Milky Way. Before he finds one, Clarke snags the bowl from him. She sets it aside and swings a leg over him, straddling his lap in the candy's place.

“Those are for the trick-or-treaters,” she chastises, looping her arms around his neck. He laughs against her mouth, his hands finding their familiar place on her hips.

“You mean the ones who are about to interrupt us any second with the doorbell?”

“I haven’t turned the porch light on yet,” she tells him, nosing at his temple playfully. “I think we have time for a little magic of our own.”

He groans, half at the corny joke and half because of the way she’s grinding down on his lap.

“You want a trick or a treat?” He teases, fingers flirting with the button on her jeans.

“Honey, we’ve been married for more than a decade. I know all your tricks.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy them.”

“True.” He can feel her smiling as she kisses down his neck. “But I’m in the mood for a treat.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, catching her mouth with his own. “Definitely treat.”


End file.
